Whirl Reminiscence
by MandiRose28
Summary: Insufferable know-it-all, Iris Raggner, is a teaching assistant at the local university. Mysterious Blake Rune has just reluctantly accepted an assignment that requires him to fill in as a Professor. When their paths cross, will they realize what is happening and find a way back to their own reality?
1. Prologue: An Ordinary Day

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement.**

**Prologue**

The droning, consistent buzz of her alarm clock had finally worked its way through her dream. Recognizing it for what it was, she groaned, rolling over to haphazardly slap at it, in a desperate attempt to hit the snooze button. When she failed to find it, she groaned again, and sat up. Opening one bleary eye and turning toward the insufferable contraption that had interrupted her most interesting dream, she finally found the button she was looking for, and stabbed it with her finger, finally quieting it.

She stretched her arms out, then reached to smooth back her voluminous chestnut hair, which seemed to have escaped its hair band in the middle of the night. As she pawed through her sheets looking for the elusive band, her thoughts turned to her dream. It had been so unnervingly vivid, almost more like a memory than a dream. She shook her head, laughing inwardly at herself. _Yeah_, she thought sarcastically,_ because dragons are real and they are used to guard underground caverns full of gold and jewels._

"Iris! Are you awake?" called a perky voice. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry up a bit. No time for a lie-in!"

"I'm up, Samara," Iris replied. Stepping into the hall toward the bathroom, she continued, "I'll be ready in a flash, I promise."

"Alright. We're not going to have time to stop for a fry-up, though. I'll whip up some eggs and toast."

"Thanks!" Iris called as she stepped into the shower. As she wrangled her mane of curls into a soapy fright, she tried to focus. _First day of term,_ she thought to herself. _This should be interesting_.

* * *

Blake Rune sat at the corner café, drinking a cup of tea and reading the daily paper as he waited for his fry-up. The waitress sauntered over to him. "Sorry for the wait, but it should be out soon. Need more brew while you're waiting?"

Blake glanced wryly at her nametag before responding. "No, thank you, Rosie," he drawled, allowing just a hint of contempt to seep out before he turned his attention back to the paper. Rosie didn't seem to notice, but just continued on to check with the patrons at the next table.

Blake was not one for much conversation. Such was the nature of his work, and he quite preferred it that way. Even so, he found himself today preparing a lecture for the local university. This was one assignment that he had balked at, but, despite his protestations, and idle threats of quitting, his boss had prevailed. "This is one of the best opportunities we'll have, Blake," he had said. "As distasteful as you may find it, you're the best person for the job. Just remember, it's for the greater good."

_Greater good_, Blake sneered to himself. _I'm not quite sure what that even means anymore._

Just then, Rosie plopped down his breakfast. "Needing anything else, sir?" she queried.

Blake shook his head, his thick, black hair barely stirring with the movement, and waved his hand in dismissal. Rosie huffed a bit this time, but turned and began clearing a nearby table. As he began to eat, his thoughts drifted and he found himself strangely pondering the word "brew".


	2. Rough Start

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement.**

**Chapter One**

**Rough Start**

"Made it!" Samara declared triumphantly, as she held the door for Iris. The small, brick administration building of Saint Milburga's University was bustling with activity, typical for the first day of the term.

"I can't believe it! When the train was late, I thought we were done for," Iris stated, as she began to dig through her bag for her credentials. "Wouldn't it be great if we could just magically appear exactly where we needed to be?"

Samara chuckled. "That would be something, alright. Anyway, you go check in. I'm going to run to the loo."

"Okay," Iris replied. "Don't take too long, though. Janice will pitch a fit if we miss her opening speech."

Samara turned down a small hallway just off the entrance, and Iris continued down to the conference room at the back of the building.

"Iris Raggner!" a high pitched voiced called from a cubicle as she passed hurriedly.

"Janice! Aren't we having our start of term meeting?"

"Sweetie, I've been trying to reach you on your mobile all morning. Yes, we're going to have our meeting, but you've been reassigned and need to report to your professor before the first class," Janice explained, as she handed Iris a slip of paper.

"Professor Rune?"

"Yes. Now scoot, honey, or you're going to be making a bad first impression."

Iris turned back toward the door. "Thanks, Janice!" she called over her shoulder. She nearly ran into Samara on her way out.

"Whoa, where's the fire?"

"Can't talk, Sam. I've been reassigned. We're still on for lunch!"

* * *

As she worked her way across campus, Iris checked her watch for the umpteenth time, then quickened her pace to a near jog. As she moved, she tried to scan the slip of paper Janice had handed her. _Professor B. Rune, Doctor of History. 0900-Origins of the Occult; 1000-History and Mythology; 1100- History of Medi—_

**Crack!** Iris slammed into somebody. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" a young woman yelled.

Looking up, Iris saw that she was standing near the entrance to the history building. "I'm so sorry!" she apologized. "I was looking at my schedule and I wasn't paying attention." _I don't even know how I got here so quickly._

"Well, slow down next time. I'd like to get to my classes in once piece," the girl retorted, spinning around and walking away, her long red hair flowing behind her.

"I really am sorry!" Iris called after her, before turning to enter the building.

* * *

Blake glanced up at the clock above his desk. Ten to nine. _Didn't they say I was to receive a teaching assistant?_ he wondered. "Bloody irresponsible co-eds," he muttered aloud. Just then, a young woman with the bushiest brown hair he had ever seen, practically slid into his office.

"Professor Rune? I'm Iris Raggner, your teaching assistant," she said breathlessly, extending her hand to the tall man. He hesitated, and then took her hand brusquely. As they touched, Iris felt a quick electric shock, causing her to pull her hand back quickly. If he had felt it, he did not react.

Turning to his desk to gather his lecture notes, he spoke. "Miss Raggner, if you are going to make a habit of skating into my office mere minutes before class, I would highly recommend you request a reassignment. I simply cannot work with anyone who is less than professional. If that is normally how you conduct yourself, I assure you, you would find me most unpleasant."

Iris narrowed her eyes, but was determined to keep her voice as cheerful as possible. "No, sir, this will not be a habit with me, I promise. I had only just received my assignment to you this morning when I checked in at the administration building. My previous assignment did not have a class until 1030."

She sized him up as she spoke. He was young, compared to most of the professors at Saint Milburga's, late thirties, perhaps. Tall, with pale skin, but well built and fit looking. He wore a black suit, complete with seven button vest that reminded her of vintage men's fashion. His hair was long, however, almost to his shoulders, conjuring images of American skater culture, but void of any playfulness.

"Enough. We will be in lecture hall C this morning." With that, Blake simply brushed passed her, heading toward to the classroom.

Assuming that was the closest thing to an invitation she was going to get, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder, and followed him. "Nice to meet you, too, Professor," she grumbled, shutting his office door behind her.

* * *

Since she hadn't arrived in time for him to issue any instructions, Iris took a seat in the front row of the lecture hall to take notes. She hadn't taken many history courses during her bachelor's studies, and none of them seemed as _interesting_ as the ones on Professor Rune's schedule. The first class, _History of the Occult,_ was listed as a senior level course. Professor Rune tossed a syllabus and reading list unto her desk as the students filed in and chose their seats.

As soon as the clock ticked over to nine o'clock, he began. "There will be no foolish giggling or silly behavior in this class," he said smoothly, not raising his voice above his normal conversational timbre. The students immediately quieted and leaned slightly forward to catch what he was saying. "In this class, we will be studying the ancient traditions and beliefs of revered cultures from all over the world. While you," he snapped his pointer on a student's desk for emphasis,"may not agree with or understand many of the things we discuss, I will settle for nothing less than the utmost respect for the cultures we examine. Let us begin."

Blake smiled inwardly as he began his lecture. These students were actually paying attention; they were interested in what he was saying. _What a refreshing change of pace_, he thought before he quickly realized he had no other teaching experience to compare it to.

* * *

**Author Notes:**  
Name meanings:  
Iris- Messenger  
Samara- Guardian  
Blake Rune- Dark Secret

Saint Milburga (aka Saint Mildburh) was one of three sisters to be canonized. She was noted for her magical powers such as healing, communication with birds, creation of a spring, and even levitation of her veil upon a sunbeam.


	3. Marching Orders

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement. **

**Chapter Two **

**Marching Orders**

Iris sat through all three of Professor Rune's lectures, furiously taking notes, and only moving when he instructed her to erase the blackboard. The last class ended at noon, and Iris hurried to gather her notes so she could meet Samara for lunch. Professor Rune watched with interest. "And just where do you think you are going?" he asked her dryly.

Hearing his tone, Iris froze, then turned to look up at him. "I'm meeting my flat-mate for lunch, sir."

"You may have lunch on your own time. If I am not mistaken, I am still owed approximately one hour of your _services_ today, seeing that you were so kind as to arrive nearly as the first class commenced."

Iris took a deep breath and nodded curtly. "You're exactly right, Professor. I have not fulfilled my hours with you today. What tasking do you have for me?"

"My office, Ms. Raggner. We will discuss the duties and responsibilities you seem so keen to take on in the role of my teaching assistant."

With that, Professor Rune spun around and started walking briskly back to his office. Iris followed, trying to match his powerful cadence and authoritative gait. Being almost a foot shorter, however, she practically had to double-time her steps just to keep from falling behind, her frizzy curls bouncing as she strove to keep up.

Upon reaching his office, Blake lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. He had been standing on his feet lecturing for three solid hours, and he longed to simply plop himself down and prop his feet up on something. He resisted the urge, knowing full well that he must maintain appearances at all times, especially with Ms. Raggner. If she were to be working closely with him, he could not allow any slip in character that might eventually expose him. Instead, he sat forward, his back ramrod straight, and his hands resting on the desk.

"Sit," he instructed when Iris entered, as he gestured toward the chair across from him. She took the seat, sitting as primly and straight as she could manage, and set her messenger bag on the floor, propped upright on the leg of the desk.

"I need to see your credentials and course schedule," he stated flatly.

Iris, trying not to appear as off kilter as he was making her feel, retrieved the documents and calmly slid them across the desk. Blake picked them up and studied them quietly for several minutes, his face expressionless. He was surprised to find her academic background so similar to his own. Her bachelor's degree was in advanced chemistry, with a minor in mathematics. His own had been a joint study in physics and chemistry. Her grades were more than adequate, as she graduated with honors, and she had already assisted with some published research.

He continued, paging slowly through her transcript, and quietly noted the near absence of humanities coursework. She had taken the requisite terms of a foreign language, Latin to be specific, and a single general history course. Turning to her current schedule, he saw that she would be continuing in the sciences, with what appeared to be doctoral study in theoretical physics. _She may be worthy of recruitment, when this assignment comes to end, but why have they assigned a scientist to assist with history courses?_ he wondered. Of course, he himself did not have the official history credentials he claimed. After he had been recruited, the agency required him to study obscure branches of history to aid with his work. Over time, he had begun to realize that all of it was connected, the history, culture, sciences, religion, everything. Iris, however, did not have that same requirement, leaving him to beg the question, _Why is she here?_

Clearing his throat he finally spoke. "Ms. Raggner, while your credentials are adequate in the sciences, I can plainly see that you have not had the instruction in history that I require of my assistants. I could hardly expect you to be able to contribute to my research, when you would have no clue as to what you were looking for." He placed the papers back on the desk, and slid them back to her.

Iris pressed her lips together in a firm line, and he noticed a spark light in her eyes. _Apparently, this one is not just an average perky co-ed,_ he mused. _She's a fighter._

"Professor Rune," Iris began, "while I have concentrated my studies in the sciences, my grades should leave no doubt as to my intelligence. If I set out to learn something, I will succeed, and I will learn it more thoroughly than anyone else." She strained to keep her voice steady as she continued, but each word carried the threat of crescendo. "I did not choose this assignment for myself, and I do not understand the reasoning behind it, but I can promise you that I do not back down once a challenge has been set before me, and I do not shirk responsibility. I will prove to be more valuable to you than any assistant you could have hand-picked from this student body. I have excellent research skills, and any knowledge I currently lack, will be compensated for with the organization, tenacity, and dedication I pour into every endeavor."

As she concluded her monologue, the lights flickered slightly and seemingly snapped her out of her agitated state. She relaxed slightly and bit her lip, fixing her brown eyes on his dark ones as silence stretched between them.

Blake resisted the smile that was tempted to escape his lips. She would suffice, and he would also recommend her to the agency, perhaps in a few years. That spirit paired with her intelligence could be put to good use. "Enough," he finally said. "You will report to this office at seven-thirty each morning. You will attend all of my lectures and take precise notes. You will return upon completion of your afternoon classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to assist with lecture preparations and research. And, most importantly," he said pointedly, "you will follow my instructions to the letter and without question. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well. I will see you back at five o'clock. Do not disappoint me."

With that, Blake waved at her in dismissal. It was a gesture he had perfected over many years. It often offended and encouraged people to keep their distance, just as it did to Ms. Raggner now. Iris rose and quickly retreated through the door and down the hall.

_If they keep their distance, they can't get hurt, _he reminded himself.

* * *

Once outside, Iris leaned against the rough brick of the building, trying to keep from shaking. _Why did I let his insult affect me so? And why did I retort so emotionally? I don't even really like history! _

As shaken as she was by her own behavior, she was reminded, again, of her dream. _I have faced my dragon for the day,_ she thought, _and I think I may have won._

Iris then looked down at her watch. The discussion of her duties had not taken the hour Professor Rune had initially seemed so adamant about. If she hurried, she might still be able to catch Samara at lunch. There was so much to tell her.

* * *

Black dialed the phone and ran his hand through his heavy hair as he waited impatiently as for the line to be secured. "This line is clear," the automated voice informed him. He entered the pass code he had decrypted from the morning paper. There were seven beeps, then an answer. "Yes, Blake?" the older man asked.

"I am in place and my cover is established," Blake answered.

"Very good, my boy," Sal responded. "I expect a full report tonight. Be at headquarters at 2100 hours."

"Understood, sir."


	4. Lunch, Tea, and Torture

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement.**

**Chapter Three**

**Lunch, Tea, and Torture**

Iris walked into the café, bursting to tell Samara about her rather interesting morning. She looked around and noticed her friend sitting in a back corner booth and proceeded to join her. "Samara, you will not believe the overgrown bat they have me assisting. He's cold, rude, insulting— not too bad looking, though, now that I think about it— but really an overall nightmare!" she blurted out as she sat down.

"Sounds like a real winner. Please, tell me more," Samara teased, "after you order. You took so long, I already ate."

"Oh, that's fine. I'm surprised you're still here anyway. After Professor Rune decided to keep me late, I wasn't sure I'd catch you."

Rosie approached the table. "What can I get for you?" she asked cheerily.

"I'll have the bangers and mash, and just water to drink. Thanks," she said, handing the menu to Rosie.

As Rosie returned to the counter to send Iris's order back to the kitchen, Iris continued recounting her morning's interactions with the frustrating professor. "He actually had the nerve to suggest that I wouldn't have the faintest clue as to how to conduct history research for him! He never smiled, not even in greeting me, and the only feelings he seems capable of emoting are disdain and displeasure."

"Oh, come off it, Iris," Samara interjected when Iris stopped to take a breath. "You've been exposed to all sorts of academic types during the past five years, and I've never known you to speak ill of a professor before. Be honest with me—has he any redeeming qualities?"

"Besides being tall, dark, and brilliant?" Iris asked. "No, I really don't think so. I swear, Samara, I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up sucking my soul right out of my body, leaving me as a depressingly boring and, worse yet, unintelligent shell."

Samara burst out laughing. "At least it seems you would enjoy the view slightly while he did so. You haven't really showed an interest in anyone since…huh, I can't even remember when."

"It has been a while," Iris stated wistfully, "but I guarantee you—Professor Rune is not an object of any interest. I can't even put my finger on it, but it seemed like every time he opened his mouth to speak, which wasn't often as he preferred to glare, he was deliberately trying to push my buttons. In any case," she continued, "I'm expected to report back after my classes this afternoon. I'll tell you, though, I am determined to prove him wrong about everything. I'm going to be the best bloody assistant he's ever dreamt of."

"There's the determined Iris I know and love," Samara giggled. "You know I'll help you out if you need a study partner. Learning all of his coursework, on top of your physics studies this semester, is not going to be any easy task. I can't have you going batty on me from all the stress."

"Never," Iris replied, with a smile. She felt very lucky to have such a great flat-mate. Samara had her own classes and studying to do, but she never seemed stressed out, and she always made sure Iris took care of herself. "Thanks for bringing me back down to reality."

"Anytime."

* * *

Iris found herself meandering through the library without any real purpose. Her last class had been dismissed early, due to the professor's wife going into labor, and she found herself with some extra time before she had to be back to the history building to officially begin her work with Professor Rune.

As she wandered through the stacks, she took a deep breath. People might think she was crazy, but she adored the smell of all the old books. Whenever she could, she would spend time just walking in the library, taking in the sight of the seemingly endless shelves and the soft, muffled sounds of students muttering as they searched for elusive texts.

As she turned a corner to pass some of the study carrels, Iris thought she heard someone crying. She started to walk away from the noise, but changed her mind and turned toward the carrel. Iris had shed a lot of tears when she first came to Saint Milburga's. She found that she was more studious than most of the other students, and her lack of non-scholastic interests had left her feeling isolated. Even though the chance was slim that the girl crying (as she was now near enough to tell the sobbing was feminine) was a social pariah as Iris had been, Iris might still be able to be of some assistance.

Iris squared herself in front of the door to the carrel and knocked softly. The girl inside didn't answer, so Iris opened the door just a crack and spoke. "Excuse me. I couldn't help but hear that you are, um, rather upset. You don't know me from Adam, but if you might need someone to talk to, I'm here. A little third-party perspective never hurt anyone, either."

Iris was shocked when the girl sighed and actually pulled the door more widely open. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her red hair falling slightly over her face. Looking up at Iris, she spoke with a sniffle. "Oh, it's you."

"I'm sorry," Iris replied,"but have we met?"

"Yeah, you mowed me down this morning while I was walking to my first class. Not surprising, really. No one seems to notice me." With that, she dissolved into another fit of tears.

Iris wasn't quite sure what to do, but she knelt down, placing on hand on the girl's shoulder. "I am so sorry about this morning," she started. "There is really no excusing it. I have spent my fair share of time feeling invisible, though, so I do have an idea of how you might be feeling. Oh, I'm Iris, by the way. Iris Raggner. And you are…?"

"Wendy Hulda," the girl sniffed. "Nice to meet you, Iris." Wendy took a deep breath before continuing. "And I would like to apologize for biting your head off this morning, and for being such a sodding mess now. I'm usually a little more held together and polite. Now that term has started, I'm just feeling overwhelmed with everything—classes, football practice—stuff like that."

"Well, Wendy, I've had many a near breakdown myself, admittedly mostly self induced, but I know I fared much better after I had someone to talk to. I can't stay too long now, but would you like to meet for tea tomorrow afternoon? There's a little café a few blocks over that my flat-mate and I tend to frequent."

"I think I might like that," Wendy replied. "Half past four, then?"

"Perfect. See you then." Iris gave Wendy a soft smile, then retreated. _Time to begin my torture session, _she thought_. At least I'll be learning a lot._

* * *

Blake stacked some books and lecture notes on the small worktable in his office. i_If the little know-it-all is so desperate to prove herself, I'm going to make sure she's challenged._ There was a solid knock at the door. Blake looked to the clock and saw it was precisely five o'clock. _Glad to see my earlier dressing-down hasn't shaken her confidence or her punctuality_, Blake noticed. "Enter."

"Good evening, Professor. I'm here as—"

"Ms. Raggner, do you believe, for some inane reason, that I have contracted amnesia in the past few hours?" Blake interrupted with a snarl.

Iris startled. "No, sir," she answered, wide eyed.

"Then I will kindly request that you not repeat your purpose for coming when our meeting is pre-arranged. I remember precisely when I instructed you to report. I needn't have my time wasted with your meaningless parroting."

"Understood, sir." She kept her voice even, but inwardly, cursed the man. _Why is he so affected?_

Blake nodded toward the large stack of books. "Before you may adequately assist me, you need to achieve a higher level understanding in the area of obscure history. Those books are directly from the syllabi for my classes, with some additions from my personal library. I have also included outlines of my lecture notes for the next two weeks. During the next week, you will read these books and make appropriate entries on the outlines. If you prefer to work in solitude, that would be preferred, however, I would be remiss if I did not make myself available to answer any questions you may have. Therefore, you may work here in my office, as well, but only during my office hours or our regular working times, which will begin at five o'clock and end promptly at seven thirty."

Iris glanced at the pile of tomes on the table and swallowed hard. "I'll get right to it then." She quickly sat down at the small table and began reviewing a syllabus.

Blake sat at his desk, finalizing his lecture notes for the next day's classes. The outlines provided to him by the junior analyst at the agency were adequate, but he wished there had been someone else on staff knowledgeable enough in these topics to flesh them out. _If Ms. Raggner proves to be as worthy as she claims, however, I might have to do little more than review her work_.

He glanced over to the worktable where Iris was hunched over a book and a lecture outline, her back toward him. Her impressive amount of hair was fanned out down her back, and she was chewing on the end of her pen. She stopped masticating it long enough to jot something down on the paper, her left hand splayed out holding the paper down. Blake couldn't help but notice the thin pale line on her left ring finger, a tan line. _Interesting. A recently broken engagement perhaps? _ he wondered. She was old enough to have been divorced, but her serious demeanor did not lend her to be a woman who would lose herself in a young and silly romance. He kept watching and noticed that she would occasionally rub her thumb along that finger, as if searching for the missing ring. _As long as it doesn't interfere with her performance_, he thought, then began wondering why it had even piqued his interest in the first place.

Iris continued working diligently, losing herself completely in her work, the sound of turning pages creating a slow and steady rhythm. She was completely unaware of the dark eyes that were watching her so carefully, and of the fact that _she _wasn't turning the pages of the book.


	5. Cloak and Dagger

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement.**

**Chapter Four**

**Cloak and Dagger**

Blake rubbed his temples with his long fingers, hopeful that the kneading would relieve some of the tension that had been building throughout the day. In addition, he had not anticipated working with Ms. Raggner to be so draining. At first, he thought she had been too intimidated to speak, but at seven o'clock she shattered that illusion into a million pieces. Apparently, Ms. Raggner was merely extremely organized. As she had been working for two solid hours, she had been compiling a list of questions to ask him before their time was done for the evening, leaving him mentally exhausted. Granted, he was impressed with how easily she had grasped and put together some of the finer points of the material, even going so far as to draw conclusions that could not be found in the entry-level texts he had provided to her. The woman was brilliant, even if she did somehow manage to annoy him at every turn.

He quickly gathered his things and headed out, locking the office behind him. Blake had ninety minutes to grab some dinner and report to headquarters, and working with Ms. Raggner had definitely stoked his appetite. _I wonder if Rosie works double shifts_.

* * *

Satisfied from his evening meal, Blake headed toward an inconspicuous building in a purportedly average section of the city. The crime rate here was mediocre, average household income in the surrounding areas was solidly middle class, and the business occupying the ground floor was a simple dry-cleaning operation. As he entered the building, a small bell chimed above the door. "We're closed," the elderly woman told him as she approached the counter from the other side.

"I apologize, madam, but I was hoping you could take on a rush job for me. It's extremely urgent." Recognizing the code phase as correct, the women pressed a button, opening the door that was next to the business counter. Blake walked through the door, and continued walking until he seemed to vanish among the hanging garments.

He came upon a door at the far end of the building, opened it, and descended down a staircase to a vestibule. Placing his identification on the scanning mechanism and seeing the lights glow green for acceptance, he stepped back and waited for the lift doors to open. He waited for less than a minute, then entered the lift.

As he was carried down several floors, Blake reflected on the first time he had visited headquarters. Sal had found him soon after he had obtained his doctorate in chemistry. At first, he didn't believe a word the old man was telling him. A secret branch of the government responsible for investigating paranormal crimes? It had sounded like something straight out of a bad television program. Sal, however, had assured him that it was all very real, and very necessary.

Much of the cutting edge science that was being developed was beginning to be used very lucratively by the smarter and better resourced criminals. Using their own research, and finding clues hidden within ancient religions, cultures, and events, Blake and his colleagues were able to explain many of the crimes committed, and capture the persons responsible. It was not what he had envisioned himself doing upon graduation, but it was, as Sal often reminded him, for the "greater good". Regular law enforcement possessed neither the requisite skills, nor the knowledge, to track and apprehend this special breed of criminal, leaving them free to continue their delinquency.

So, somewhat reluctantly, Blake had agreed to join the Guild of Abnormal Research and Unidentified Deplorable Acts, or G.A.R.U.D.A. Most, however, simply referred to it as "the agency". The majority of Blake's work took place in one of the elaborate laboratories at the headquarters, which he quite preferred as he was fond of solitude and academic pursuits. On occasion, such as the case now, Blake's expertise was required undercover and in the field to gather evidence and aid in direct profiling of suspects.

When the lift doors opened, Blake stepped into a well-light vestibule. Another woman came from a connecting hallway to greet him. "Blake! I'm glad you could make it out tonight. We are all most anxious to hear your initial field report," Athena informed him. "I am also curious as to how you are doing. I know you're not very keen on field work."

Blake grunted, but allowed the older woman to see a slight turn of his mouth. She would know to interpret it as a smile. "Yes, well I am more than aware that Padraic Valko was not only lacking the academic prowess required for this particular assignment, but that he remains in deep cover. I was the only one Sal thought sufficiently qualified and available, although I'm still in the dark as to the case related to my current assignment."

Athena studied him closely, noticing the fatigue behind his eyes, before she responded. "I'm sure we'll be discussing that tonight. In any case, Blake, I think it will be good for you to be out among the living for a while. Being shut up in that blasted laboratory for weeks on end—you might as well be stuck in a dungeon. "

"And everyone would be better off lacking my company." With that, Blake walked past Athena, and headed to Redoubt, the main meeting room, and second most secure space, at headquarters. The most secure space, naturally, was Blake's laboratory.

As Blake took his usual seat at the long table, he studied the other agents who had gathered there. Valko's seat was vacant, as was to be expected, but Annemarie and Bernie Hulda were present, seated opposite the doorway. Annemarie served as the administrative assistant and office manager for the agency, and Bernie was the resident tinkerer. His main specialty was re-purposing everyday objects into useful, and covert, tools of the trade. Next to Bernie, Greenley Evaden, their main agent within Scotland Yard, had chosen his seat. Greenley didn't usually attend agency meetings; his presence indicated that the case they were working was high profile, and would probably prove difficult to crack. _And I've been the one chosen to be "boots on ground". Bloody terrific_, Blake thought.

Athena entered just after him and took her seat at the far end of the table, where there was a control panel installed into the table top. Placing her index finger on the panel, she stated clearly, "Athena McCullough, Greenley Evaden, Blake Rune, Bernie Hulda, and Annemarie Hulda are present."

All of the persons seated turned their attention to a large screen that was mounted on the wall opposite Athena. The G.A.R.U.D.A. logo that had been originally displayed faded to reveal Sal D. Andimoure, founder and leader of the agency. How old he was, Blake wasn't sure, but he hadn't been physically seen at headquarters in more than seven years. He peered at all of them over his readers, with a slight twinkle in his eye. His grey hair perfectly matched his neat beard, and he wore a dark purple dress shirt paired with a dark green tie.

"Good evening, everyone. I know you all have things to do that are immensely more important than entertaining my personal curiosity in your current projects, so we'll keep tonight's meeting brief." He turned his head slightly toward Evaden. "Greenley, why don't you begin by explaining the situation at hand."

"Of course, sir," Greenley replied. "It has come to our attention that we are facing one of the most vicious and methodical killers the agency has ever seen. So far, we think he could be responsible for up to six murders, all of them quite brutal, and each taking place on days of importance on the lunar or solar calendars- blue moons, equinoxes, dates of that sort. The methods, however, differ greatly on the surface, and the medical examiners have yet to determine the actual cause of death for any of the victims. In fact, it was the lack of similarities that first clued me in to this being a case suited for G.A.R.U.D.A. I'm hoping that you, Blake, could figure out if someone is trying to perform ancient rituals involving human sacrifice, and then figure out how he's selecting and dispatching his victims. With that knowledge, we should be able to predict who his next victims may be, allowing us to intercept and apprehend him."

"I'll need copies of all of the case files, as well as access to the bodies, if you can manage. I do, however, fail to see why this particular case has me lecturing large group of dunderheads in the finer points of obscure occult and scientific history."

Sal answered, "After Greenley and I reviewed the available information on this case, I inferred that the perpetrator is either a student of the occult, or recruiting students to join his, for lack of a better word, coven. Saint Milburga's is the only known university with ties to occult groups and has been the site of several documented paranormal events. It is only logical that you will encounter someone connected with the case inside your classroom. You will, however, need to make yourself accessible to the students. We can hope that whoever it is that we are looking for beings to view you as a kindred spirit in his pursuits, and seeks you out either as a potential recruit or a confidant."

"Accessible? You want me to be nice?" Blake asked incredulously.

"Of course not, my boy," Sal chuckled. "That would most definitely expose you. No, no, you just need to make sure the students are aware of your office hours, and, once you have a few suspects, make sure you personally invite them to make use of that time. I am fairly certain that your usual persona will only serve to endear you to our person of interest."

Blake refrained from answering; Sal had made a valid point, but he bloody well wasn't going to let him know it.

"Blake, I'll see what I can do about the bodies. It may take me a couple of days to get them officially transferred here to your lab. As far as the case files are concerned, I can go over them with you tonight, or tomorrow, if you prefer," Greenley offered.

"Tomorrow would be preferred. I have lessons to finish preparing tonight. If I am to maintain my cover, I cannot let the quality of my instruction be less than adequate. "

"What about the teaching assistant the university assigned?" Annemarie questioned. "I was assured they would assign a graduate student to assist with your classes."

"Yes, I do have an assistant assigned to me, but for some reason well beyond my comprehension, she is not trained in history at all. She is a science student, physics and chemistry, if I recall."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Raggner," Sal chimed in. "Charming young lady. Sharp, determined, top notch."

"I'm sorry sir, but you know Ms. Raggner?" Blake asked. He tried to be surprised, but he wasn't really. Sal always seemed to see a bigger picture, and more minute details within that picture, than anyone else.

"Not personally, no, but I have been watching her progress for several years. She will make a wonderful addition to the agency, if you can manage to recruit her, Blake. That is why I arranged to have her assist you. Think of this case as her unofficial field exam."

"That's all well and good, but it does nothing to alleviate the teaching workload you've so conveniently arranged for me as well."

"She will be well versed in a matter of weeks, I assure you. As I said, I have been watching Ms. Raggner for quite some time, and she is exactly the person you need assisting you on this case."

Blake sighed before speaking. "Just to be clear, I am to perform all the duties of a tenured history professor, investigate an occult murder case, identify and capture a serial killer, and recruit a young woman to join our illustrious ranks?" Blake detailed.

"In a word, yes," Sal responded bluntly, his eyes twinkling as usual.

"Fan-bloody-tastic."

* * *

_Iris sat on a stool at a laboratory table. Her hand was raised high, and she was trying her best not to wave it. She looked around to her fellow students, astonished that none of the others had their hands raised. She looked to the teacher, a tall man dressed all in black, but she couldn't make out his face. The light in the room was very dim, and there was steam rising from several…cauldrons? No, that couldn't be right._

_She kept her hand raised while the man turned to her. Practically sneering, he began berating the young boy sitting next to her, almost reveling in the boy's ignorance. The boy seemed slightly frightened, and most definitely embarrassed, but Iris felt only indignant. The nerve of a teacher to treat a student so poorly over nothing more than an incorrect answer!_

_As the man approached, his coat swirling around him, the scene shifted. Iris was now lying on a cold, marble floor. As she began to raise her head, her entire body was racked with intense pain. She heard a woman's maniacal laugh coming from somewhere across the room, but the pain was so terrible that she was blinded by it. As her muscles contorted in spasm again and again, she began to fear she wouldn't be able to take it anymore. Surely, the pain was killing her. She opened her mouth to cry out, but no sound followed._

Iris sat up with a start, gasping for air. Her heart was pounding and she had an excruciatingly painful charley horse cramp in each calf. As she pointed her toes and began rubbing the tightened muscles, she tried her best to keep from crying. Samara already did so much for her; she didn't need to bother her with some simple, albeit painful, cramps.


	6. Settling In

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement. **

**Chapter Five **

**Settling In**

Iris was enjoying her walk across campus to the café. She tried to stretch her legs with each step, working out the stiff muscles left behind by the cramps that had woke her in the middle of the night. So far, she had been fortunate enough to have a fairly uneventful day. She had reported promptly at seven thirty to assist Professor Rune as he finished preparing for his lectures, and she managed to get through the morning relatively unscathed. He had managed to glare at her, his dark eyes full of disappointment and annoyance, when she had accidentally cued the wrong presentation slides for the second class, but, other than that, and in spite of his obviously lack of interpersonal skills, the time passed quickly. A hurried lunch was followed by her afternoon classes, a course examining current research of string theory and an independent study of quantum mechanics.

As she rounded to corner, Iris saw Wendy sitting on a bench just outside the café. She gave a friendly wave as she walked over to her. _Well, it doesn't look as if she's been crying today. That is a good sign. _

Wendy flashed a smile. "Hi, Iris! I just want to say sorry, again, for being such a wreck yesterday, and thank you for the invitation today. "

Iris smiled back. "Anytime. Shall we?" as she gestured to the door. Wendy got up and followed her into the café.

"So, with my brothers all being out of school and doing fairly well with their careers, I suppose I'm just feeling a lot of pressure from my parents, well, really my mother. Nothing overt, mind you, but all the little hints and jibes to add up," Wendy explained as she drank her tea. Iris gave a weak smile. "I suppose it is times like these I should be grateful that my parents are abroad," she said with a slight chuckle. "Very grateful," Wendy agreed, then sighed. "The worst bit is, I'm not quite sure what I want to do, or rather, what I should be doing. I'm studying to be a nurse, which is great, but I also really love football. I'm actually pretty good, too. On top of it all, there are a few guys who have expressed interest in dating, but nothing seems right, you know? I just keep getting this feeling that there's something… I don't know… just something _more_ that I'm supposed to be doing or looking for." She trailed off as she sat her cup down and gazed wistfully out of the window before continuing.

"And then there's Eric. My youngest brother, Rhett, well, he's a year older than me, but he works for the police and Eric is his partner. Iris, he's so nice, but I don't even think he knows I exist. I can barely get a word out when he's around." Wendy stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just keep babbling on and on and you haven't had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise! Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Well, there's not too much to tell. I'm a Master's student, working in the field of theoretical physics. I've lived in Britain my entire life. I'm an only child and my parents moved to Australia when I started university. I live with my flat-mate Samara, and I'm a teaching assistant to Professor Rune in the History Department. I drink coffee more than tea, cappuccino to be specific, and, since I've always been a bookworm of sorts, I don't get out too much. I'm really very lucky that Samara puts up with me, even takes care of me sometimes when I get too involved with my studies. She's actually the one who suggested I apply to be a teaching assistant. I think she thought it would force me to be more social," Iris summarized. "Nothing worth mentioning, really."

"Are you kidding? Theoretical physics? That's really awesome. That has to be one of the most challenging courses of study I've ever heard of!"

"Well, I do find it pretty challenging, which is one reason I think I enjoy it so much. I like a good challenge. Keeps me young," Iris laughed.

"Right," Wendy replied, chuckling as well. "So, how are the guys in the theoretical physics department? Typical soft nerds or repressed hunks hiding behind thick glasses and complex formulas?"

Iris paused thoughtfully. "A little of both. Sad thing is, even the good looking ones are so socially awkward that they're almost not worth the effort. At least, I don't have time to train any of them in social niceties."

"Aww, that's too bad. The world could use some more genius social butterflies."

"Nope. They only person I would care to work on would be Professor Rune. His social prowess is abysmally non-existent and, seeing as I have to work with him daily, fixing his issues would clearly be to my benefit."

The two women continued chatting as they finished their respective beverages, both happily surprised that their discussion flowed freely and easily. _Goodness_, Iris thought, _it's as if we've known each other for years._

Blake had spent the majority of his afternoon sitting in Redoubt and sifting through the case files Greensley had sent over.

Annemarie poked her head in the door. "Blake, would you like some tea?"

Blake groaned inwardly. He knew she was just trying to be nice, or rather, motherly, but he also knew if he said "yes", she would conveniently invite herself to join him. He would then be held hostage as Annemarie provided updates on all of her children, how they were doing at work, people they were dating, everything he knew he could live without ever knowing.

"Actually," he finally responded dryly, "I was about to go for a walk, clear my head, that sort of thing. Investigating a serial murder case can be quite taxing." He saw that she deflated a bit at his reply. Hoping to put her off for good, he then added, "Not that you would know anything about that."

"No, I suppose I wouldn't," Annemarie said stiffly. She turned on her heel and walked off, muttering to herself. "Like I'd want to live doom and gloom every day. Give me bloody nightmares."

At first, Blake smiled to himself. _That was much easier than I thought it would be_. His brief feeling of victory, however, was quickly replaced by guilt. He knew that Annemarie often felt insecure about her role within the agency. She had initially been a field agent, and a pretty good one, at that, but once she and Bernie had begun having children, they had decided one of them should work a desk job. There was also a part of him that appreciated the gestures and, albeit annoying, efforts Annemarie made at taking care of him. He really did not enjoy pushing people away, or even enjoy being alone, _but it is the only way to keep them distant, to keep them safe. It's better, easier, to be alone_, Blake reminded himself.

"Blake, how could you? I heard Annemarie complaining and muttering the whole way down the hall. Now she's in the kitchens banging pans around, causing a ruckus and giving me quite a headache!"

Blake turned around slowly in his chair to face the angered woman. "Really, Athena, after all this time, have you really come to expect anything more of me?" he asked wryly.

"Well, no," she admitted, her voice softening slightly, "but I have to hold onto hope in my old age. Now, how is the case coming along? Have you found anything in the files so far?"

"I've only made it through the first two files so far. Once I've had time to go through them all, I should be able to begin cross-referencing the victim profiles, and searching for ancient rituals that may explain what the killer is trying to accomplish. I spoke with Greenley earlier and he said that the last three victims' bodies should be delivered by midday on Friday, giving me the entire weekend to examine them. The other three had already been released to the families for burial before Greenley picked up the pattern on this one. We're getting copies of the autopsy reports and photographs. I'm hoping that will be enough. As heartless as I am, I would prefer to refrain from asking a grieving family to exhume a body."

"Blake, it might surprise you, but I know you are not as heartless as you attempt to appear. Also, I request that you restrict your time in the lab to six hours each on Saturday and Sunday. Try not to work yourself to death. I would hate to have to train a replacement all on my own."

"Well, I also wouldn't want to disappoint my _students_, if you could call them that. I actually had one young man ask me to explain why advances in science were relevant to the study of history. The idiots that make it into universities these days—I have very little hope for the continued superiority of humanity."

Athena shook her head slightly. "Oh, Blake, it can't really be all that bad. After all, you haven't killed any of them yet."

"Yet, Athena. Yet. The term just started yesterday."

Blake quickened his step as he walked to the café, planning for an early dinner. The food was cheap, fast, and surprisingly good. As he approached the building, he saw Iris exiting with another young woman, a redhead. They shared a quick hug and parted ways, Iris heading in the direction of her flat. For some reason, Blake found himself frozen as he watched her walk away, her long curls bouncing slightly, her steps quick and light. _What is it about her?_ he wondered.

As he came to his senses, Blake decided he would have to do some research into Iris's background. If he was going to be recruiting Iris for G.A.R.U.D.A., he would need to know a lot more about her. _Add another task to the list. Maybe I will finally succeed in working myself to death_, he thought grimly.

Across campus, a young man sat on a bench, observing his fellow students as they walked across the main pavilion. He had a couple of texts sitting next to him on the bench, _Religions and Rituals of Britain Through the Ages_ and _Fact or Fiction: A Modern Examination of Mythology_, their covers glossy and still bearing the price tags from the university's bookstore. He held a third book open on his lap. The binding was cracked and the title was worn completely off the cover. Occasionally, he would glance down at the book and turn the yellowed pages, giving the impression he was reading. Then, he perked up. As the young woman walked past him, he packed up all three books and ever so casually began to follow her.

**Author Notes: ****_I apologize for the delay. Chapters will be slow during the next few weeks while I finish a LOTR baby quilt for my friends' new addition. Thanks for bearing with me, and for all of the great reviews- they keep me motivated! _**


	7. Race Against The Clock

**Chapter Six**

**Race Against the Clock**

"Before I get into the details of my findings, it is imperative you all know that we don't have a lot of time. Based on the killer's pattern of choosing dates coinciding with significant celestial events, we can be quite sure that, unless we identify him soon, the twenty-second of September, the autumnal equinox, will be the date of his next attack. We have eleven days to crack this case."

Blake paused before continuing with his findings. "Six victims, various ages, both men and women, killed over the course of five months in various, and uniquely heinous, manners. The first victim was killed on March twentieth, during the Spring Equinox. The approximate time of death determined by the original medical examiner leads me to believe that Angela White, a twenty four-year-old albino woman, was killed at noon. She was stabbed to death, the wounds taking the shape of a triangle. The triangle could well be representative of the Great Pyramid, one of the primary pagan symbols of the Vernal Equinox. The young woman worked as a midwife, and, when her body was found, her hands had been posthumously amputated. Her white hair could have been seen as symbolic of the reign of the sun, which is ushered in as the days begin to lengthen. Her occupation easily parallels with the bringing of new life, which is celebrated in the spring in various cultures."

"Blake, have you ever seen a ritual killing outlined in any of your studies that matches the specifics of this case?" Athena asked.

"Sadly, no. Many ritual spring sacrifices contain some of the elements and symbols I mentioned, but never all of them. All of the killings were so meticulous and detailed in their meaning and symbolism that I've come to believe they were either carefully researched and concocted independently, or the result of a deeply secret and long forgotten ritual."

Greenley turned to Blake, his brow furrowed. "To what end? What would be the killer's purpose in such careful selection of victims and symbolism?"

"That's very difficult to say," Blake replied. "If the work is unique to the mind of the killer, we will have a very difficult time deducing the motive or anticipating next victim. If we can find a ritual that calls for such killings, we will have not only the motive, but a road map to guide our investigation. In any case, I believe that the killer is male, physically fit, educated, and probably quite, for lack of a better word, charming."

"How can you be sure of something like that?" Annemarie asked, clearly uncomfortable having to sit through such a macabre discussion.

"It's simple, really," Greenley answered. "None of the victims were forcibly abducted before their deaths. No sign of struggle on their person, in their homes, or in their vehicles. It actually works in our favor. Each of them either knew the killer, or he appeared to be a kind enough chap, that they were not afraid to be alone with him."

"What about the other victims?" Athena inquired.

"I've placed summary sheets in your briefing folders. The facts therein were mostly derived from the initial medical examiner's reports, as the last three victims bodies arrived only yesterday morning. I have, however, begun toxicology screenings for common ritualistic substances and some of the rarer and little known poisons. I should have completed most of that work by Tuesday evening. That is, provided the preparation for my classes goes quickly this week."

"And how is the young Ms. Raggner faring, Blake? You haven't run her off yet, I hope," Athena teased dryly.

"Her work is adequate. She's more opinionated than I would have preferred in an assistant, but she works quickly, precisely, and thoroughly. I may ask her to assist in the research for this case."

Athena scowled slightly. "Isn't it a bit soon for that? Do we know if she can be trusted?"

"I completely agree that it is much too early to reveal the existence of G.A.R.U.D.A., but much of the research could be used, in bits and pieces of course, during lectures for my classes. As far as she will know, she will just be assisting with my university work."

Greenley nodded in agreement. "Good idea, Blake. The more trained eyes we have looking for an answer, the better chances we have of uncovering the killer's plot. Any students you feel should be put on our suspect list, yet?"

"It's only been a week, but I've had three students attend office hours with some rather interesting questions. Nothing too incriminating, but I will attempt to foster some type of rapport with them to gain more insight."

"Very well. I'll make sure to appraise Sal of our progress next time he calls. Any other business before we break?" Athena queried.

Bernie half-raised his hand. "I've been working on some things that may help you and your research assistant, Blake. I assume you'll be looking at some rather old documents during your search?" Blake nodded, then Bernie continued, while pulling out a magnifier of some sort. "I've rigged this lens with several filters. With the push of a button it can intensify faded ink, reveal hidden inks, or detect other anomalies with the document. Once the text is clear, you can dictate to the microphone hidden in this pen," Bernie pulled out a silver fountain pen, "and a printout will be created here at headquarters." He then slid the items across the table to Blake.

"If they work as you claim, which I do have reason to doubt, Bernie," Blake said pointedly, "they will indeed be very useful."

Bernie visibly balked. "Now, Blake, you can't keep giving me a hard time about that. I was very clear that that specific tool hadn't been properly field tested!"

"Regardless, I found myself without eyebrows for a fortnight, a fashion I would rather not attempt again. I will be handing your new _gadgets_ over to Ms. Raggner. Her bushy hair could benefit from a reduction in volume, should these items malfunction," Blake said dryly.

"Meeting adjourned, then," Athena announced, before Annemarie could rally to her husband's defense. "Do try to enjoy the rest of your weekend, everyone, and we will meet back here on Tuesday evening."

* * *

Iris sat on the living room floor, various texts open and surrounding her. She flipped through one, jotted down some notes, then turned to another. Occasionally, she would close a book and return it to the high stack on the end table, selecting another to take its place on the floor.

"Good night, Iris!" her flat-mate exclaimed.

Iris jumped and spun around. "Samara!" she scolded. "You shouldn't sneak up on me like that. You know how lost I can get in the books when I'm researching!"

"Sorry," Samara apologized. "You did realize, though, that it is, in fact, Saturday? A day most people use to take a break from their Monday to Friday cares?"

"I know, I know. In my defense, however, this is partially your fault," Iris countered.

"How do you figure that one? I'm not holding a knife to your throat forcing you to study."

"No, but you were the one to suggest we apply to be assistants this term. Now I'm stuck working in a subject I know nothing about, with a man who seems to have disdain for my very being. I'm not up to the task, and I need to be."

"Iris," Samara started gently, "no one expects you to become an expert in Occult History in less than a week."

"You say that, and somewhere my brain knows that, but I can't seem to shake this need to prove myself."

"To the brilliant, but ever so hard to impress, Professor Rude and Demanding?"

"It's _Professor Rune_," Iris chided. She sighed as she continued. "That might be it, but it's hard to explain, really. I just can't fathom being any more of a disappointment than I already am. It's probably just my annoying drive for success and perfection."

"Probably," Samara agreed. "Even so, you can't attempt to achieve perfection on an empty stomach. I picked up some curry on my way back. Would you fancy some?"

"In a bit, I suppose," Iris replied. "I'm at a really interesting part in this book, though. Did you know that many fantastical happenings in history, things that people attributed to mythical creatures or magic, can now be thoroughly explained by science?"

"That is interesting," Samara conceded, "but not as interesting as my lunch." She flashed Iris a playful grin and exited to the kitchen.

* * *

Hours later, Iris stretched out among the books still strewn across the living room floor. Her joints creaked and protested the sudden change in position. Her fingers stubbornly refused to let go of the pen she had been using, and her eyes felt like sandpaper. She groaned slightly and glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight. _Why do I do this to myself?_ she wondered. It certainly wasn't the first time she had completely immersed herself in research, oblivious to the world around her, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Rising, she turned to the kitchen, hopeful that some of the curry Samara had mentioned at lunch had somehow survived. What Iris discovered stopped her short in her tracks. A plate of curry did in fact remain on the table, but it was steaming hot, not hours cold as she would have expected. Iris shook her head slightly, and then noticed Samara's jacket was missing from the rack. _I guess she's gone out_, Iris thought. _It was probably the sound of her leaving that brought me back to the real world, and she was nice enough to warm up the food for me, _she reasoned to herself, albeit unconvincingly. _Yes, that's what must have happened._

Pushing away the eerie feeling that something was not quite right, she sat and forced herself to eat. She managed about half of it before her fatigue won out. Iris quickly scraped the remaining food into the bin and laid her plate in the sink. Eyes heavy, she stumbled to her room, and practically collapsed onto her bed.

* * *

Iris awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in her window. Stretching and finding herself aching from head to toe, she willed herself out of bed. Usually Samara was up early on Sundays, whipping up a hearty breakfast. The woman loved to cook, and Iris knew better than to deny her the pleasure.

As she walked to the hall, however, she quickly realized that the flat was strangely quiet. "Samara?" she called. When there was no answer, she kept walking through to the kitchen. Glancing toward the coat rack, she noticed Samara's hook was still empty. Either she hadn't come back last night, which was unusual, or she had run out early while Iris was having a lie-in. Iris sincerely hoped it was the later, because if Samara hadn't come back last night, something could be wrong and she had no idea who she would contact or where she would start looking.

She bit her lip, trying desperately to remember if she had heard Samara say anything as she left last night, or even if she _had_ heard her step out. There were no other dishes in the sink, save for the plate she had put in before she went to bed. Turning back down the hall, she walked to Samara's room and knocked quietly, hoping for a response from within. Silence was all that greeted her, so she gently opened the door. Samara's bed was neatly made, but that was status quo, and all of her sparse furnishings were in perfect order. Samara was, in addition to being a lay gourmet, extremely neat and not fond of frills and excess. No pictures on the wall, no trinkets on the shelf. Nothing inside seemed out of place. Iris backed out, closing the door gently. All logic pointed to Samara just being out, but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was amiss. Like she had the night before, however, she suppressed the peculiar feeling of unrest that threatened to surface. _Well, there's not much I can do right now. She certainly hasn't been gone long enough to really raise alarm, even if it is out of character._

Hit by an unexpected wave of fatigue, Iris decided there was no point in worrying when there was no evidence that the worry was warranted, and put herself back to bed, silently cursing her addiction to knowledge every step of the way.

* * *

Blake gently placed the slide under the microscope and leaned in to peer into the eyepiece. It was just past noon and he had been working in the lab since sunrise. He could practically hear the ticking of a clock as he worked, fully aware that any minute he spent not focused on the case decreased the odds they would be able to prevent the next murder.

He had spent the last few hours carefully examining lung tissue from the fourth victim. John King, a middle-aged vicar, had succumbed to smoke inhalation, and the killer had removed one of his lungs postmortem. Blake had already run several tests trying to identify the type of smoke the killer had used. Nothing at the scene showed evidence of fire or smoldering, and Blake had a hunch that it wasn't smoke, per se, but rather smoke-like, noxious fumes that had been produced by a chemical reaction. If he were able to identify the chemicals, they could narrow their search to certain distributors, and give them a direction in which to search for the killer. According to Greenley, the inspectors were about to deem the death accidental when one of the rookies noticed red indentations around the man's mouth, similar to the outline of a gas mask. That had ruled out an accident, and opened up considerations of suicide or murder. That, coupled with the date of death, the Summer Solstice, had piqued Greenley's interest.

Blake added a drop of test solution to the slide and watched for a reaction under the scope. Negative. Practically growling in frustration, he pushed his chair away from the table and stormed upstairs. If he was to keep working, he was going to need some tea, coffee, something to keep him going. Thankful he didn't run the risk of running into Annemarie today, he headed toward the kitchen. Bernie and Annemarie always stayed away from headquarters on Sundays, choosing to spend time with their gaggle of children instead. All of the children were grown, of course, but there always seemed to be too many of them, and too much chaos, when the entire family was together. Bernie used to invite Blake to join them, but Blake preferred the quiet calm of his lab, even when he wasn't making any progress.

Putting on a pot of coffee, he sat at the table and attempted to distract himself by mentally reviewing his lectures for the next day. _Many legends have basis in fact, but the facts have been muddled and buried under years of fabrication, exaggerations, and bold-faced lies._

Blake continued his review as he poured his coffee and began to drink it- black, of course. A movement on the windowsill caught his eye, and he squinted, barely able to make out a small beetle crawling along. Suddenly, he slammed the coffee cup down on the table and rushed back to the lab. He had a few more tests to run.


	8. Balance

****Disclaimer** All characters, real or implied, and the marvelous world they inhabit belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with them for my own amusement.**

**Chapter 7**

**Balance**

Monday morning dawned, and Iris was greeted by the sound of rain pelting her window. She glared at the fat drops that would be solely responsible for her hair's untamable state all day, narrowing her rich brown eyes and wishing she could simply will the rain to stop. She was grateful, however, to hear the familiar sounds of Samara cooking breakfast, and the accompanying aromas, wafting down the hallway from the kitchen.

Immediately, Iris sprang out of bed and rushed to great her friend. "Samara! I was quite worried! Where were you yesterday?"

"What are you talking about, Iris?" Samara asked, clearly confused.

"Samara, you were gone when I stopped studying Saturday night, and I didn't see you all day yesterday. I was afraid something had happened to you when you went out Saturday night."

"Iris, I'm sorry you were worried, but maybe if you hadn't been so wrapped up in your books on Saturday, and completely exhausted yesterday, you would have noticed that I was in and out all day. I was running errands." Samara grabbed a plate and deposited a half dozen sizzling sausages on it.

"What?"

"I checked in on you a few times yesterday, but you were dead to the world," Samara explained. "You really need to stop burning the candle at both ends, sweetie."

Iris stared at her for a moment, searching her memory of the previous day. It all sounded plausible when she really thought about it, _But something isn't quite right._ "Maybe you're right, Sam," Iris finally told her. "If I don't slow down a bit, I'm probably going to crack up." _If I haven't already._

Samara smiled softly. "Not while I'm around," she said firmly. "In any case, was it worth it? Have you managed to fill your head to the brim with obscure occult histories? Are you ready to impress the pants off of your cranky professor?"

"I hope so," Iris replied, then began laughing. "I mean, I hope I can impress him. A recommendation from a liberal arts professor would really round out my C.V. I would, however, prefer that he remain fully clothed, pants on and all that."

"For now," Samara teased with a wink. "Now, go get yourself ready. The rest of this will be finished in about ten minutes, and I want you to have enough time to actually eat it. I don't think you consumed anything yesterday."

"You are a lifesaver," Hermione stated, grabbing a hot sausage as she headed back to her room.

"I know," Samara whispered.

* * *

Blake arrived at his small university office earlier than usual, carrying a cheap cup of coffee from the diner. Rosie had pressed a couple of sugar packets into his hand, with a sly smile, as she had handed him his change. Blake had rolled his eyes, but it was much too early for him to start expending energy with scathing remarks aimed toward overfriendly strangers.

He needed Iris to start helping him with his research for the agency today, and he hoped she would be up to the task. Without her assistance, he was certain they would have no chance of catching the killer before the autumnal equinox. _If last week's work is any indication, she'll ask too many bloody questions about the research and I'll have to either recruit her on the spot or find way to erase her memory._ Thankfully, he only had one class to lecture on Mondays, allowing him the remainder of the day to introduce Ms. Raggner to the fine art of primary source historical research.

Blake pulled out his lecture notes, glancing quickly at the clock. _Ten till seven. Plenty of time to review and prep my initial research list._ He settled in with his outline, making a few adjustments and additions here and there, and was working quite diligently when he heard a ruckus just outside his office door, beginning with an undignified squeal.

"Bugger!" Iris shouted. "For the love of Pete!" she then proceeded to fumble with the doorknob furiously.

Annoyed, but strangely curious, Blake swooped over to the door and wrenched it open. The sudden motion caused a very upset, and soaking wet, Iris to slam directly into his chest, knocking him off balance and onto the floor. To the utter dismay of both, the soggy assistant landed directly on top of him

Blake took a deep breath to calm himself. In the few seconds that took, he could help but notice how small the young woman seemed. With her bushy mane of hair weighed down by the rain, she very much resembles a drowning cat. The fact that her brown eyes were currently staring straight into his dark ones and were comparable in size to a pair of saucers, only served to complete the illusion.

"Oh my goodness, Professor!" Iris exclaimed, as she attempted to push herself off of the startled man, and regain her bearings.

"Ms. Raggner," he responded dryly, pulling himself up as well. "Would you care to explain why my office now resembles the site of a moderate monsoon?"

"Sir, I am so sorry," Iris began, grabbing napkins from her pocket and attempting to remove some of the water from her person. "I forgot my umbrella, which is ridiculous, because for some reason I've never been without it before, when I really needed it, that is, and when I got here, there was already so much water on the floor left behind from others, that I proceeded to slip. That, in turn, cost me my rather cheap cup of diner coffee and one of my favorite shirts." She gestured to her blouse, and he noticed that brown stain covering the majority of the front. "Unfortunately, the coffee was also still quite hot, and I lost my concentration, and my footing, when I became distracted by the burning sensation. That's when I tried to grab the doorknob to help regain my balance, and, well, bowled you over, sir." Iris felt her cheeks flush, for various reasons. She realized she had revealed her tendency to babble when nervous and her clothes were still dripping copious amounts of water on the floor. Lastly, she couldn't help but making a mental note as to how toned Professor Rune's chest had felt to her fingers beneath his starched shirt, as she had struggled to right herself. _That gives an entirely new spin to the term "History Buff"._

Blake found himself just staring at her for a moment. The woman was a bloody hot mess, and she had prattled on so, but between her large eyes and her obvious fluster, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. At a loss, he simply turned toward the coat closet behind his desk, and pulled out a couple of towels that were stored on the shelf therein. Still silent, he offered one to Iris, then removed his jacket and hung it in the closet to dry before wiping his own face.

"Thank you, Professor," Iris finally said, breaking the silence.

Blake took a deep breath before he spoke. "Ms. Raggner, even as I can hardly stand the prattle of a woman in distress, I was not raised without manners. Seeing as this situation clearly did not call for the more traditional handkerchief, towels were in order, if not only to prevent you from continuing your incessant driveling—and dripping."

Iris ignored his comment, finishing her own drying off process and tossing the towel on the floor to sop up the water that had puddled there. "Well, thank you, anyway. I had hoped to catch you early and discuss some questions about this week's lecture materials, but I'm afraid I'll have to head home to change, sir, and get another cup of coffee. I'm afraid I'm not much use when I'm uncaffeinated."

"You mean to tell me this is how you are without the aid of stimulants?" he muttered before continuing. "Very well, Ms. Raggner. I will give you leave from the eight o'clock lecture today, but I must ask that you return as soon as possible. There is some additional work for which I will require your assistance today."

Iris nodded curtly, indicating her understanding, and crossed out of the office, her pace hurried, but careful.

Blake sat down at his desk again, then noticed his umbrella propped up behind the door. _Drat manners,_ he thought to himself, rising from the chair, grabbing the umbrella, and pursuing his assistant down the hall.

"Ms. Raggner!"

Iris stopped short. Had she really just heard Professor Rune coming down the hall after her? Pivoting slowly, as to maintain her balance on the still slippery floor, she almost fell over when she saw him carrying a black umbrella. Without his formal jacket on, he almost looked normal as he proceeded toward her. Well, less formidable, at least.

"Just put it behind the door of my office when you return," he said, thrusting the device into her hands.

"Of course, sir," Iris said, accepting the umbrella, somewhat timidly, her hands scarcely brushing his. Feeling a quick shock in her fingers, she jerked her hand, and the umbrella, away. Blake scowled slightly, moving his eyes quickly between his hand and hers before nodding his head ever so slightly and returning to his office.

Iris, unaware that she had been holding her breath, gasped slightly and scolded herself for her reaction. _Great. Now he probably thinks I was trying to insult him. Either that or he'll assume I can't stand him even enough to be an adult about a nanosecond of casual, physical contact. _She continued her personal admonishment as she stepped back out into the rain. Then, suddenly, a new thought arose. _Wait a minute, was he actually being nice? _

* * *

Blake tried not to mentally berate himself for appearing too kindly to the young woman, even while he was puzzling about her reaction to touching him. _Am I so insufferable that she finds me repulsive? Sal will not be pleased. I am supposed to be recruiting her. It's probably best I maintain some sense of chivalry—no, civility. Maintain civility…_

Resuming his position at the small desk, his papers now speckled with water spots, he attempted to finish his review. His mind, however, kept wandering to a pair of warm brown eyes, large with surprise. There had been something unnervingly familiar about those eyes, but he could quite place his finger on it. _And where on earth had those towels come from?_

* * *

Iris headed quickly toward the campus train station, the large black umbrella protecting her from a further drenching by the unrelenting rain. Her mind was racing all the while. _I can't believe I knocked him over like that! He probably finds me ten times more annoying now than he did before. I'm going to have to work even harder to earn his approval, and a decent recommendation. And, how do I react after he goes out of his way to be, well, almost passably nice, I insult him by jerking my hand away like I'm a twelve-year-old afraid of catching cooties! _She groaned inwardly. _And now I'm babbling to myself! Why am I getting so worked up? It's just a little campus job, right? And who the heck keeps towels in their office cupboard?_

"Iris!"

Iris had been so wrapped up in her internal monologue that she hadn't noticed that she was walking past the Administration Building, and Samara had just walked out, holding her own umbrella.

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes. What happened?"

"I forgot my umbrella, ended up drenched, then slipped in the hallway of the history building, spilling my coffee all over myself, and tackling Professor Rune in the process," Iris summarized.

"Yikes! Were you going to go back to the flat to change?"

"Yes. The professor granted me a reprieve from his lecture this morning to get myself put back together. He even loaned me his umbrella."

"Interesting. Maybe he has a thing for damsels in distress," Samara joked with a comical eyebrow wiggle.

"In any case, you don't need to bother heading back. It just so happens, I always keep a spare change of clothes in my bag. I fell face-first into a puddle during my first year as an undergrad and ended up covered in mud and still having to sit through a meeting with one of my professors. I haven't ever needed a spare set since that day, but, you know, if you're prepared for the worst, it's less likely to occur." Samara stepped under the protection of the awning that was over the building's entrance, pulled out a shirt, and handed it to Iris. "There you go."

Iris hesitated for a moment, then accepted the shirt. "Samara, it's almost too good to be true that you always seem to have my back, no matter what completely unexpected or unlikely disaster strikes."

Samara shrugged. "It's a gift. Not everyone can be as awesome as me. Anyway, I have to run. Duty calls!"

Iris stood, quite dumbfounded, as she watched Samara step out into the crowd of students and disappear into the sea of umbrellas. _How does she do it? She's like a fairy godmother or something._

Shaking off an eerie feeling for the second time that morning, Iris ducked into the restroom of the administration building to change her top. With any luck, she would be able to make it back to the history building in time for Professor Rune's class. _I wonder what additional work he has for me, _she mused, while unsuccessfully trying to keep her mind on getting changed and back to the history building, and off of the professor's dark eyes.

* * *

Blake couldn't believe it. Iris had actually made it back just in time for his lecture. She flashed him a shy smile, but didn't say a word as she worked quickly to set up his presentation slides. Giving her a quick once-over, he noticed that her eyes were still puffy with sleep, indicating that she had sacrificed her much needed caffeine in order to make it back in time for the class. _Dedicated, that one, _he thought, then huffed to himself, _or just plain stubborn._

Her hair, still damp from her earlier trek in the rain but no longer dripping, had been tamed somewhat, the droplets weighing it down into submission and making it appear much less wild than normal. _In fact, it's almost, well, pretty_. He scowled at that thought, and was about to look away, when Iris completed her task and glanced over to him.

_Why the heck is he scowling at me? I made it back in time for his bloody lecture, even in time to set up the presentation. Didn't he notice that I smiled when I came in? That was supposed to be a peace offering! _At a loss, Iris decided to nip any animosity in the bud by attempting to kill the dear professor with some kindness. She picked up his umbrella and walked over to him, proffering the slightly damp item and flashing him and overly bright smile. "Thank you, again, for letting me borrow this, Professor."

Unaware that she had caught him scowling at his own thoughts, Blake was a little confused by the forced nicety in her voice. Since students were slowly filtering in, he felt obligated to make a good show of things to keep up appearances, but also keeping in mind that he was supposed to be recruiting the young woman. "Yes, well, next time I might not be so generous. In addition," he continued, careful to omit his characteristic sneer, "I thought you had more sense than to disregard my instructions."

Iris was quite taken aback, and she clearly displayed this on her face as she queried, "Professor?"

"You were instructed to leave this contraption," he gestured toward the umbrella derisively, "in my office, behind the door. Unless your ears have been filled with rainwater, please do so now."

Blake spun on his heel, a move he had spent years perfecting, and shifted his attention toward beginning his lesson. He was hoping he had managed to strike a good balance between the surly git he was supposed to be for the students, and a character that would endear Iris to G.A.R.U.D.A. The confused look on Iris's face, however, a look that morphed into anger as she exited the lecture hall, informed him that he had failed.

_Bugger._

* * *

_**Author's Notes**  
I was very disappointed with the complete lack of interaction between Iris and Blake in the last chapter. This chapter has made me feel better, and I hope it makes you all feel better, too! Thanks for reading!_


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